


Behind the Masquerade

by vecchiofastidioso



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, NSFW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:37:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vecchiofastidioso/pseuds/vecchiofastidioso
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas has a line in-game during the assassination attempt on Empress Celene, which you'll see repeated a few times in this fic. Follow-up to "A Masquerade", going into something...that hopefully the rest of the group was unaware of.</p><p>NSFW for smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind the Masquerade

          _I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events._  
         Those words reverberated in the Inquisitor’s head every time she passed within Solas’ orbit, and brought anew a flush of warm colour to her cheeks, to her ears, and a sparkle to her eyes. Creators, she had an assassin to find and flush out. Yet Ze’ev could not ignore it when Solas’ eyes met hers, when his expression shifted from delighted interest to...  
          _Want._  
         It was the best word Ze’ev could think of to describe what settled over her beloved’s face each time their paths and eyes crossed in her hunt for the assassin. His brows settled down over his eyes, but not quite in a scowl. A tension permeated his entire being. His gaze, which had been taking in the sights with enjoyment, steadied and intensified, darkening while his pupils widened. It sent her heart racing again and had heat pooling between the Inquisitor’s legs. So like when he first saw her before the masquerade.  
         Hungry.  
         Dark.  
         Intense.  
         His almost easy-going words which resounded in Ze’ev’s ears merely affirmed her initial guess as to what Solas’ earlier reaction meant. He had almost sounded blasé, but had delivered a biting emphasis on sex which drilled the words into her mind.  
          _I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events._  
         Creators. Was this Varric’s influence on her? All those dirty novels he wrote, and some of which somehow found their way to her shelves? Was it the fact she could see what Solas meant? More than once, Lavellan’s ears had caught the undeniable sounds of trysts behind draperies and closed doors: the gasps, the moans, whispered and grunted words in Orlesian that accompanied the frenzied and almost rhythmic smacking of flesh on flesh. She saw flushed skin and both skirts and trousers alike being adjusted back into position as people rejoined the festivities.  
         Her eyes found Solas’ again.

         His little heart was starting to understand what he meant.  
         Solas smiled, and it wasn’t the gentle smile he so often bestowed upon the younger Elf during their conversations at Skyhold. It was something warm, dark, speaking of temptations and secrets, daring her to give in to what he could show her, do to her. And it only grew more intense at her blush.  
         Whatever progress she had made in the past few months, young Lavellan was, admittedly, young. She had been refining that indomitable focus Solas so admired and enjoyed. The Inquisitor had been too busy to become accustomed to more...intimate matters before.  
         It was addictive.  
         So wrong, knowing what would happen. He should never have—but Solas had been unable to resist. Despite the pain he did not doubt would come...he could not lose her. He could not let another have her, heal whatever hurts he dealt her so she would forget him. He would regret not physically tasting her lips, not touching her. Each time arose something new which Solas knew he should turn his back on—which he started to turn away from—before his heart cried out to give in and indulge in the joy this singular and strong soul so freely offered. Of her own free will. Without his asking.  
         He could read her well these days. There was a hesitancy. Hands that were so small yet so strong in wielding her staff clutched at creamy fabric, lifting the skirts slightly, lowering them, lifting them again. Solas would have to compliment Dorian later in his choice of pale but not insipid colours for young Ze’ev. But not now. Not when his lady was practically floating over to him. Nobles detained her, received inoffensive smiles from her. But she made her way surely over to him.  
         Her lover.  
         Solas couldn’t help smiling as he set his glass aside where it wasn’t likely to be knocked over. “Shall we go for a walk, _da'vhenan?”_  
         Ze’ev could say no. They came for the assassin. It would be responsible for her to say no. And Solas knew his little heart may not have asked to be named Herald of Andraste or Inquisitor, but she took these roles as seriously as she no doubt took her position as First of her clan. It was part of what he loved about Ze’ev.  
         “We shall.”  
         She made her choice.  
         Obligingly, the apostate took his lady’s hand and placed it on his arm before covering it with his own hand. “Might I say, _vhenan,_ how charming you are tonight?” He chuckled and gently steered her away from the renewed celebrations as Ze’ev shot a bemused glance up at him. “I enjoyed watching you unwittingly charm over half the court with your grace. And it’s...pleasant to see you garbed for something other than war.”  
         “You should compliment Dorian.” Ze’ev laughed softly before Solas whisked her into an alcove he had spotted earlier in the evening, drawing a surprised gasp from the young woman.  
         “All he did was bring out to the fullest what was already there.” His hand cradled her cheek to tip Ze’ev’s face up towards his. “He outlined a dreamer’s eyes. Accentuated lips so perfect for kissing.”  
         Any protests were stilled by Solas swooping in to suit actions to words. He had wanted to kiss her from the moment she stepped before him, garbed as a noble and not as leader of the Inquisition. Her lips had begged for what he gave her now: teeth nipping and gently tugging at glistening pink flesh, tongue darting in when she gasped to twine with hers and swallow any noises she might make.  
         Where his words left off, his hands resumed. One held Ze’ev prisoner, hip to hip, while the other traced around a breast that was not too small, not too large, teasing it to life before his thumb circled and flicked over the pebbled tip. Dorian had done well to choose garments which covered without erasing the Inquisitor’s bosom. Orlesians—and fellow members of the Inquisition—couldn’t leer at a cleavage which was covered. They still didn’t know of the mole on her left breast, which an ordinary Orlesian gown would have exposed. And yet the elegant column of her neck which his fingers now caressed was outlined by that pale green undergown without the encumbrance of jewels. Sliding back down, he traced the curve of waist into hip, and his other hand squeezed at a pert little bottom which was not obscured by any panniers.  
         Smooth silk on smooth skin. The slide of it up Ze’ev’s leg had her tremble in Solas’ arms and sigh into his kiss. Those legs...the nobles here at Halamshiral had no idea how slender they were, long in proportion to the Inquisitor’s body. Hidden away in this alcove, nobody saw who now had a slim leg hooked over the bald Elf’s hip. Her whimper as his fingers moved higher, inward, was absorbed by Solas’ kiss and matched by a soft groan even as music muffled the sounds the couple made.  
         She obviously had been thinking of the words Solas had spoken earlier.  
         When his fingers pulled aside yet another layer of silk to let his index and middle digits slide over Ze’ev’s core, they encountered slick heat. A smirk wanted to make itself known. But Solas had control. And he had another of Ze’ev’s moans to cover with a hungry kiss. With her back to the wall and her head cradled in the apostate’s other hand, the young mage trembled and sighed as one finger pressed in. Then two. Massaging gently, earning a buck of her hips when they pressed against a bundle of nerves, before sliding in as far as they could on a muffled cry from Ze’ev.  
         Beautiful.

         Solas was too good at this by far.  
         When she had agreed to the walk, Ze’ev had initially felt somewhat guilty. They hadn’t come to have fun—though she was glad some of her companions were enjoying themselves.  
         But her brain function was severely hampered at the moment by the slow, firm thrusts of Solas’ fingers. It wasn’t an everyday thing to indulge in these intimacies with him. They had only just recently convinced themselves that against all their individual misgivings, they should go for what they wanted. She could still be swayed by the curl of his fingers, the friction of them against sensitive walls. The sensation still had the Inquisitor trembling and whimpering into a kiss that had twice broken for air. She still rocked her pelvis against Solas’ hand for more pressure, more friction, and her breath still hitched when he slowly added a third finger. It was still a stretch and still had her momentarily tense.  
         “Relax, _da'vhenan,”_ Solas whispered, and Ze’ev tried. Her hands kneaded at the back of his neck, at his shoulder while she inhaled slowly, shakily. The young Elf didn’t move, and neither did her lover. He simply waited with his muscles tense beneath her hands until Ze’ev made the first move: an experimental roll of her hips. Only then did he resume his earlier ministrations, accompanied by gentle nuzzling and kisses when the Inquisitor drew in breath to moan.  
         It was still exciting to feel tension of a different sort build. Slowly. Making her hips move more jerkily, her knees turn weak so her supporting leg trembled, her hands grab frantically for purchase in her body’s bid for more. More of Solas’ fingers creating friction along nerves he brought to life. More silk sliding over her breasts as the force of her motions sent her bosom bouncing gently under the fabric. More to get her to that place where delight shot through her body and where it was impossible for her to hold in a smile.  
         But just as she was coming up to that place, just when Ze’ev could feel the bliss creeping up, Solas withdrew.  
         “Solas!”  
         Well, not completely. His fingers left her body. And when Ze’ev’s head came back forward to glare up at him, her pulse throbbing between her legs a distraction making it hard to frown as she wanted to, the young woman was treated to a Solas smirk. He made a faint shushing sound, and her eyes dropped down to see the hand that had been cushioning her head from banging against the wall was opening his fly.  
          _Oh._  
         Ze’ev didn’t even mind when Solas laughed, the sound rich and dark, because it was soon followed by his kiss. Soon, her beloved was hooking her leg over his elbow this time, and there was a warm, moist, blunt pressure between her legs.  
         She needed his kiss to lower her voice.

         He needed the kiss to hold in a groan of satisfaction.  
         There something euphoric about the whole situation: an apostate taking the leader of a group that grew in power almost daily, having her in a dark alcove not too far from an opulent ball, while myriad other people did the same and pretended there was no way they would be suspected. The possibility of being seen, caught. The way Ze’ev trembled and tensed at the initial thrust before melting against him and welcoming him into her body.  
          _Ma vhenan._  
         His heart.  
         That fleeting thought in a world focused on Lavellan prompted a snap of Solas’ hips and earned a whimper from his lover. That word he’d thought of earlier to describe her. Exquisite. It perfectly described her now as well.  
         The feel of her heat, the slickness that eased the way for his thrusts building in tempo and ferocity. The way she clung to him, opened to him, began rocking her hips in an inexperienced need for participation on her own part. The taste of her tongue against his and the exchange of breath between Ze’ev and Solas, it was all...exquisite.  
         It was exquisite as she shattered around him, trusting Solas to hold her, losing all control as she oh-so-rarely did. It was marvellous to find his own release, buried deep inside his love as shudders wracked his frame as well. The way Ze’ev lifted her head, still panting softly, to bump noses with him and entreat Solas for soft kisses in the wake of the unbridled passion which had overtaken them without thought.  
         Were it not for the fact they were at a masquerade and had an assassin to find, Solas might have stayed longer in the seat he found for their mutual recuperation, Ze’ev impaled on his softening cock. Because that moment...was exquisite, as she was. A moment well worth reliving in dreams later in the Fade. But at present...  
         “We must soon rejoin the others, _vhenan,”_ the older Elf murmured huskily and with some reluctance. Ah, the sigh which brushed so warm over his neck...  
         “I know.” A pause, and Ze’ev slowly lifted herself off. She stood trying to right her clothes while her cheeks and ears blossomed more beautifully and redder than any rose Solas had yet seen that night. It brought a smile to his face as he helped, demonstrated a little spell to work out any wrinkles in her dress.  
          _I do adore the heady blend of power, intrigue, danger, and sex that permeates these events._  
         It seemed...perhaps his little heart did too.


End file.
